Poem: Sober Party, Morning After

We found them on a fence that we pass on our way to Los Angeles Dresses that tumble all the way to the dirt With sleeves that hug our wrists Under the skirts rage whirlwinds of flyaway dust That stick to our soap-smoothed legs And make us feel Like we should be in shower stalls right next to each other Laughing through the plastic walls Laughing as the sandstorms rise And douse our dresses And sting our thighs until we can no longer feel The cotton skirts that we never knew Flew up in the back when we ran